


The Ring Is the Thing

by archea2



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archea2/pseuds/archea2
Summary: The ring was the thing. A thing of beauty, if Percival Graves trusted his eyes, and a joy forever, if only Newt Scamander would share the trust and make Graves even more of an honest wizard than forty-one years of single-minded dedication warranted.(The Niffler, meanwhile, got down to business.)





	

The ring was the thing. A thing of beauty, if Percival Graves trusted his eyes, and a joy forever, if only Newt Scamander would share the trust and make Graves even more of an honest wizard than forty-one years of single-minded dedication warranted.  
  
The ring came from Albrik & Sons, who had set up shop in Greenwitch Village when Percival had been a (rare) gleam in his father's eye and the Gold Rush kept every goblin on their pointed toes. Gold it was, brighter than the evergoing party of neon lights above Fifth Avenue, engraved inside out with protective spells that Percival had chosen himself, because he wanted the ring to speak not only his love, itself a new thing, and a source of breathtaking wonder, but his newfound oath to keep Newt safe, well and cherished at all times.  
  
"Just let me..." Tina creased her brow, waving her wand at his chest. "You are _not_ proposing in a black tie, sir. Not on my watch."  
  
"I'm not superstitious."  _The ring is the thing. The ring is the..._  He started at the rap on his door; ordered his neck to relax as it opened and Queenie Goldstein popped her blond head in.   
  
"The President’s compliments, sir, and please to say if the groom is coming here alone or with, ah, family. Security -"  
  
"I am Security," Graves snapped, trying to squint down at his tie which, apparently, had been Transfigured into a red carnation, "and he's still a bachelor." _The ring is..._  
  
"Ooooh, but not for long!" Queenie beamed fondly on him. " 'Specially now you've ditched the the handfasting, honey. Mr Graves, that is. Our Newt is a swell kid, but he's not one to stay put for three hours, not if it's feeding hour for the moggies or thundering hour for the birdies, or -"   
  
"That will be all, Miss Goldstein." Graves stood up, aware that his thoughts were drifting to the late hours, so late they merged into very early hours, when Newt had been quite happy to stay put in his arms and bed. He saw her eyes round and added quickly, "Just wish me luck."  
  
Pat on cue, his fireplace lit up and ushered in Seraphina's head, sternly benevolent between her two kiss curls. "Percival. I am told congratulations are in order."   
  
"Not yet," Graves said, tamping down the itch to slip a finger under his phantom tie. He wasn't used to so many people showing a vested interest in his happiness, a far cry from his early MACUSA days. Yes, he had championed Newt Scamander upon the latter’s return to New York with a fresh-minted book and a fresh batch of protégés; had taken him in, after an unfortunate encounter between Tina's landlady and a junior protégé; found…creature comfort in Newt's late-night talks about his animals, their beauty, vim and peacefulness, at a time when the human species seemed so devoid of these; then changed his mind when Newt had kissed him at dawn, on a good-morning spur, the two of them watching the sun high in the sky and Graves's De Dion-Bouton (MACUSA’s potlach bonus for keeping quiet about last year). And because he had kissed back, and Newt had bloomed under the kiss, vibrating with joy and confidence as he zig-zagged among agents and publishers, Newt's friends had taken  _him_  in and made him part of their inner circle.   
  
It was as if all of last year's insanity had been turned into gold, and as he patted his waistcoat pocket, he found himself smiling.  
  
Then patted a bit more, and stopped smiling.  
  
"...Percival?" Seraphina angled her head in the grate. "Something wrong?"  
  
"Oh, Mr Graves!" Queenie had already caught up with his quick-change mood. "Did you check your other pockets?"  
  
Percival had flung his cloak aside and was ripping off his waistcoat, not caring if two passing secretaries had paused at the door, with a slow-mo, ruminative gaze. He searched the outer and inner pockets, groped the lining, checked his trousers for good measure and then, with a frantic gulp unbefitting of America's chief Auror, grabbed the waistcoat again and shook it upside down.   
  
Nothing. But the gesture did ring a...  
  
Just then, Queenie uttered a distressed little cry. " _Newt_! He's walking up the lobby!"  
  
"Decoy him! Don't let him in! Tell him I'm sick - abroad - in the field!" Graves had caught his hair in both hands and was tugging on it as if hoping to Leviosa himself from sheer muscle force. "Goldstein! Liaise with Theft and Pilfering. I need every wizarding op on deck. We're issuing a level-5 wanted notice. "  
  
There was a cough from the chimney.  
  
"Pending approval," Graves said mechanically. "Madam President, we have a situation."  
  
"Security breach?"  
  
"Worse. Much worse."  
  
"Grindel..."  
  
"Not even close." Graves forced the air back into his lungs. "Little Midas."

 

* * *

 

In the end, it was Queenie who stayed put, giving Newt whatever tall tale she could spin in a flash, and it was everyone else who chased the Niffler. It did not help that Little Midas had an early start on them, nor that Graves had let himself be cajoled out of tagging him with a tracking spell.  
  
"Newtsaiditmightimpairitsmetabolicflow," he'd muttered before letting Alexander Hamilton's ghost Side-Along-Apparate him into the Gold vault. (Seraphina had drawn the line at Fort Knox, but agreed to visit Tiffany's herself, on the off-chance that Little Midas hid his stash in plain view.) To no avail.  
  
And it did not help that a howler had caught up with them mid-chase, imparting to Fifth Avenue Theseus Scamander's roar of HONOUR and COMRADESHIP and what did Perce think he was doing, taking his baby brother for a spin in his car without Theseus's express consent, no, really, old boy, dash it all.  
  
By five, Graves was dishevelled, cloak-less, sweaty, sweary, and still short of a ring. Every Auror deployed had been owled a profile of the suspect, but since Nifflers were still largely and legitimately unknown to them, they had shown up proudly carrying a number of red herrings.   
  
"No, Tod, that's a  _pooch_."  
  
Tod Greencoin had shaken his head mournfully, in synch with Tina Goldstein, back from home base. ("Here's your key, sir, and yes, I found his loot. No ring. Ninety-four nickels, though - might want to ward the Automat in your street.")  
  
On the upside, word had spread that MACUSA was focused on "tracking down a mole", and four Grindelwaldists had stepped out of the shadows pre-emptively, with abject apologies and a few golden leads. But of the actual gold, not a peep.  
  
"Oh, just buy him another one," Seraphina said, waving a glitzy hand under his nose. "Here, I got you some samples."  
  
The British Minister of Magic was even less cooperative. "Our Time-Turners are not for export," he said stiffly. "Let alone on such a slapdash protocol. You chaps may have a thing for speed, but..."  
  
Graves squeezed his eyelids in brief but heartfelt communion with bootleggers all over the City. He was fairly munching the carnation by now, and his tie was back to black.  
  
Which was when Queenie Goldstein trotted into his office, dragging his intended by the hand. One hand, indeed, since the other was holding a third party by the scruff of its furry neck.  
  
"Percival!" Newt Scamander shot a sideways glance to the packed office, then moved it to the master of the premises. "Erm, sorry for intruding, but Little Midas has something to say." The Niffler cocked its head on one side, the picture of slit-eyed innocence. "Yes, you have. Apologize to Daddy at once."  
  
"I..." His office had never held much audience appeal, but now it seemed that half of MACUSA was crammed between his desk and percolator. "How did you..."  
  
Newt poured the Niffler onto his shoulder and grinned. "Oh, I know his rounds. Little rascal. So. You were looking for this, I think?"   
  
And there was the ring, still a thing of beauty - a thick hoop of gold in the cup of Newt's hand.   
  
"Ah. Yes." Graves took a self-conscious step, straining to hold his head high. He was perspiring more than he had any call to, even in this solemn hour, and he had a Niffler snorting into his left ear. "I'm sorry, this is really not how I had... I mean... " Hecate's boobs, he could hardly demand the ring back so he could offer it again.  
  
"Percival," Newt repeated. His unruly mop had lights of gold where the six o'clock sun hit it through the open window, and his face was one brilliant smile. Leaving the softer gleam to his eyes. "Look at you. You don't need a ring - you don't need gold, or ritual.  _You_  are the proposal, in and of yourself." Before Graves could answer, Newt's body had turned the air solid between them, hovering so close that his breath told Percival's cheek his next words. "How could I refuse?"  
  
His hand was still offered, palm up, and Percival clasped it before he could think. It was to be handfasting, then; the ring their tie, bonding their palms together, before he retrieved it and slipped it in on Newt's finger. It fit like a glove. "Not losing this, ever again."  
  
"Not losing you," Newt said, his voice unmistakably rough, "to anyone again."  
  
Graves bent his head low for a kiss, a benediction of lips to gold and flesh, and shut his mind to any other sensation. Including the clapping.

 

* * *

  
  
"You know," Newt said later, once they were home and the unrepentant Niffler had toddled off to bed, "I once tried to band a Simurgh in Arabia." He rested his head against Graves's shoulder. "The bravest and most faithful bird I've ever seen."  
  
"...wha'd'i’do?" Graves mumbled, sleep betraying his consonants. It was a hard day’s night.  
  
"Flew off before me and took me further East," Newt said dreamily. "Where the sun made a circle of fire above the great sands. It showed me an eternal ring, and I kept it in mind, hoping..." He stopped at the weight of the sleeping man. Newt put his arms around him and shifted his embrace so that Graves could lean fully against him, if only for an hour's rest.   
  
"Hoping," he repeated. "And now, knowing." 

 

 


End file.
